


Death is Our End; Children Our Revenge

by Witchy1ness



Category: Fate: The Winx Saga (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Mild Swearing, Saul confronting his own mortality, saul pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29291553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchy1ness/pseuds/Witchy1ness
Summary: Saul POV as he deals with the consequences of being injured by a Burned One.
Relationships: Saul Silva & Sky
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Winx and all recognizable characters and settings are the property of Iginio Straffi, Archery Pictures, and Brian Young. I'm just having fun with some of them :)
> 
> Title is paraphrased from Bruce Sterling's quote "Death defeats us in the end. But our children are our revenge against it."
> 
> Reviews and constructive criticism welcome, flames will be ignored.

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Bouncing over the forest road, navigating the Specialist squad to where the Burned One has been stashed, Saul’s first inkling that something may be off is when he spots movement through the trees.

“Stop!”

The order is out before he’s conscious of making it, and grabbing his sword is second nature as he steps out of the vehicle and into the miserable rain.

There _is_ someone in the woods; far enough from the road that he can’t make out any details beyond a figure in a long hooded cloak, the grey colour nearly blending in with the surroundings.

He swears they make eye contact, but then the person – short and slight; possibly a female? Or a youth of either gender? – turns away, walking in a manner that suggests they just so happen to be out for a walk.

But Saul’s instincts are insisting otherwise, even though there’s absolutely no indication of anything untoward happening.

Hard on the heels of that thought comes a hair-raising growl that echoes through the trees, and he turns his attention back to the task at hand as he climbs back into the Jeep.

They’ve got a Burned One to transport, and the sooner it’s out of the forest, the better.

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It seems impossible that he’s still breathing.

Everyone else – all seven of them – had been taken out by the Burned One, leaving behind nothing but the stench of blood, bowels, and fresh death to mingle with the scent of trees and loam.

He can feel the Burned One’s taint creeping through his flesh with every shaking, stuttering breath, and Saul wonders if he can bring himself to slit his own throat before it takes him over completely.

Sky’s face flashes in front of his mind, but the regret that wells up at the thought is derailed by the sound of a voice – young, female – shouting a name.

“ _Bloom!”_

Students.

The realization sends a jolt of adrenaline through him – why were they here, what were they _thinking_ there’s a Burned One on the loose – which is enough to give him the energy to lift his sword when two of the girls approach.

“It’s us, Mr. Silva. It’s Terra Harvey and Musa.”

He can still tell that much, at least; his vision isn’t completely gone yet. 

(Will he lose his vision? Or will he just see differently? Ben would know, he’s sure.)

“I know who you are. Please get back.”

Turning into a Burned One or not, there’s no way he could live with himself if he attacked students, but apparently this generation of faeries has some serious self-preservation deficits.

“A Burned One cut you –“ Terra continues, as if he didn’t know,“– and you’re infected, but we’re gonna help.”

They can’t help him; no one can, unless they kill the Burned One who injured him, and between the despair and the blood loss Saul doesn’t have the energy to fight the roots that are suddenly twining around his forearms, binding him in place. As the girls approach his body keeps moving, trying to avoid the infection slithering through every vein. Rapidly blinking does nothing to clear the dark film creeping into his sight, and fear is a coppery taste in the back of his throat as he struggles to breathe.

_Shock is setting in_ , a detached part of his mind notes.

_No shit_ , snaps his ego.

Saul’s interrupted in his argument with himself by Terra’s surprisingly calm voice – the girl must take after her father; Ben’s always been good in a crisis.

“Ok, I’ve got Zanbaq for you. It’ll calm the infection and we’ll take you back to school.”

His hearing is going in-and-out so he misses the next words, but there’s some back-and-forth between the girls, and then he feels hands – one on the top of his head and one holding his jaw – and then the touch of glass on his lips as the Zanbaq is tipped into his mouth.

His vision clears up immediately, but any relief is overshadowed by his inability to get his breathing under control.

It’s been sixteen years since Saul’s had to face a Burned One; time had dulled the memories of what it was like. But they’ve come raging back now, though there’s no time to focus on them as the girls practically haul him upright and towards the Jeeps.

He somehow manages to put one foot in front of the other enough to get to a vehicle; and then he’s crawling into the backseat while Terra gets behind the wheel and he tries desperately to convince himself that this isn’t the end, not yet. 

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	2. Chapter 2

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Saul’s so preoccupied with how he swears he can feel his body changing every minute that the journey from the Jeep to the greenhouse is a muddled blur: there’s more walking, gravel giving way to linoleum, more voices – they’re back at the school – someone new under his right arm – male this time – and his knees all but buckle when they finally manoeuvre him onto a bench in the greenhouse.

It smells of green here too, like the forest; but fresher and cleaner. The only thing that smells of death here is him, and he huffs a soundless, pain-filled laugh at the thought.

It turns into a grunt and a wince when Ben starts to drip Zanbaq into the wound on his back, and while he wants very hard to not let on how much pain he’s in in front of Sky – who’d arrived in an upset rush – it’s yet another choice taken out of his hands.

Sky’s voice is taught with nerves as he practically demands “How bad is it? Can you help him?”

“Sky, I’ll be fine. Just let Professor Harvey _dohiswork_ – _ugh_!”

Pain makes his words trip over themselves, and he can’t help the full body jerk as Ben presses a cloth soaked in Zanbaq against the slash. It isn’t that the Zanbaq itself hurts, but the wound seems to be extra sensitive to touch, and each drip of the dropper feels like a splash of acid followed by a temporary flash of relief.

“I should’ve moved it right away, had more soldiers.”

Farah is – characteristically, he’d thought she’d grow out of the habit but apparently becoming Headmistress only reinforced it – in full self-recrimination mode even before she’s fully through the door of the greenhouse, and Saul would laugh if only even just the thought of more movement weren’t so painful.

But there are things that need to be said, and there are entirely too many ears currently in the room to say them; it takes more effort than he wants to admit to say, “Guys, could we have the room, please? We’ll keep you informed. Go on.”

Sky, bless him, doesn’t argue, and as he and Terra leave so does the rest of his strength, Saul all but collapsing onto the hard wooden bench. Shock is definitely taking over, but he has to let them know before he slips into its embrace.

Farah’s there before he knows it, cradling him as the pain starts to sing louder and the gentle scent of her perfume is a counterpoint to the stench of burning flesh that feels like it’s taken up permanent residence in his nostrils.

“It’s just us, Saul.”

He can distantly feel Ben treating the gash on his arm, but it’s a small matter compared to the truth he’s had to face once he realized that he wasn’t going to die _quite_ yet.

“The Burned One was loose before we got there.”

The words and his air leave him in a rush, and it’s a struggle to draw in his next breaths and continue, hating what he has to say even as there’s a sense of relief in no longer being the only one carrying the burden.

“I saw someone…in the road.”

And he should have investigated the moment he saw the person; he’d made the foolish assumption that a stranger in the woods would have no correlation with there being a chained-up Burned One in said woods, and the rest of the Specialists had paid for that mistake.

“Someone set it loose on purpose?”

There’s shock and disbelief in Farah’s tone, the same he felt when he realized – sitting amongst the corpses of his comrades – what must have happened, as anathema as the realization is.

As he nods, Saul can’t help but feel this is only the beginning of their problems.

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	3. Chapter 3

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The following week is startlingly anti-climactic.

Despite feeling – and looking, to the point he’s stopped glancing in any reflective surface as much as possible – like a walking dead man, Saul continues going through the motions of everyday life as if there wasn’t a giant hourglass trickling away the sand of his lifespan in the back of his mind.

It’s more difficult to do when his students keeping looking at him like they’re expecting him to drop dead at any moment (not that he can blame them, when he half-expects the same thing), but he manages to harangue them with enough of his old fervor that things go more-or-less back to normal as he waits for semi-regular updates from Marco and Noura.

Sky develops a rather annoying tendency to hover, but Saul bites his tongue about it. Even when it starts to affect his focus in class, Saul can’t bring himself to chastise the teen, not when _he’s_ the reason the boy is distracted.

At least Sky hasn’t done anything stupid like running off to hunt the Burned One down himself, and Saul gives silent thanks that his student is clearly a more level-headed and reasonable teenage boy then he can remember Andreas being.

That impression takes a sharp hit one afternoon when he’s back in the greenhouse for his next round of (increasingly ineffective) Zanbaq treatment.

“Just one more, Saul.”

Ben’s tone is calm and soothing, but it doesn’t keep the agony from shooting through Saul’s body as the Zanbaq touches the ugly weeping gash on his back.

Saul gasps, pain making his breathing shaky as he tries not to dwell on what the decrease in effect of Zanbaq means.

“Right, I’m gonna go and get some more bandages.”

Saul barely notices Ben leaving, his entire focus consumed with putting his shirt back on, every tiny movement making him groan as the pain flares, distracting him from realizing Sky’s shown up until the boy speaks.

“How bad is it?”

He doesn’t answer at first, stalling for time by finishing getting his arm through his sleeve. But even that simple movement exhausts him, and then he can barely suck in enough air to breathe never mind answer before Sky continues.

“Is Professor Harvey gonna up your dose of Zanbaq? He said it’d keep the wounds at bay until –”

“– until it can’t anymore.”

It takes a nearly superhuman effort for Saul to haul his body upright and brace himself on the table across as he moves from the bench to the stool.

He’s getting way too familiar with that bench; he’s gonna have to carve his name into it at some point.

 _They can turn it into my gravestone_ , he thinks with bleak humour.

As he drags his attention back Sky’s talking about covering his classes, and Saul laboriously manages to turn around and plop his ass onto the stool with a heavy sigh as he’s asked about the status of the battalion.

“Uh, they’ve tracked it forty kilometres north of here. They’ll engage it soon.”

Please god let them engage it soon; this slow, lingering death is not something he’d wish on even his worst enemy.

Sky sounds angry when he snaps, “And when they do, are they gonna –”

Saul cuts him off, too exhausted to deal with Sky’s high-running emotions even as he feels guilty about being the cause of them. He can’t imagine what must be running through the boy’s head, but does his best to stay calm and reassuring.

“I have every confidence they will complete the mission. They will kill it. The only question is when.”

_Shit._

He hadn’t meant to say the last, meant to keep it to himself. But he’s so _tired_ : tired of keeping a brave face on, tired of pretending everything was going to be alright, tired of keeping _secrets;_ especially tired of keeping secrets from Sky.

Wary confusion and suspicion replace the anger in Sky’s voice now as he asks, “What do you mean?”

Saul forces himself to answer, trying to remain detached and failing.

(It turns out being prepared for a quick death in battle versus a slow, lingering one are two entirely different mindsets.)

“The, uh…the infection is spreading quickly now. When it reaches my heart…” he can’t bring himself to look at Sky as he lays out the painful truth he’s been wrestling with for days.

A quick glance as his voice gives out nearly breaks him; the pain and the denial he sees in the teen’s blue eyes is a burden Saul has no strength left to shoulder, and his heart cracks at the thought of letting his boy down.

“How long do you have?”

Sky is trying so, so hard to be stoic, but he knows him better than that; and knowing Sky’s putting up a front is a stab of guilt right to Saul’s already over-burdened heart.

Saul doesn’t even notice he’s shaking his head as he answers. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Not long.”

“So, what do we do?”

Sky’s louder now, anger and the pre-cursor to grief increasing the level and intensity of his voice, and all Saul wants to do is tell him that everything will be okay. But Sky’s older now, smarter; too smart to fall for empty platitudes like that. And Saul owes him too much than to lie to his face like that.

Saul makes himself get up and meet Sky’s gaze, unable to stand straight any longer and feeling like he’d aged a decade just in the past few minutes.

“Well, I’ve spoken to my seconds about the plans for your training, and Dowling is aware of my wishes for your future.”

_A future it is getting likelier that I will not be around to see._

And that almost hurts more than the pain of turning into a Burned One. Sky has already lost so much for one so young, and Saul’s been slowly coming to grips with the understanding that while his suffering will end with his death, it is yet another loss that Sky will have to live with it for the rest of his life. 

“I asked you a question.”

The boy’s voice is tight now, controlled even as he accuses Saul of dodging the question.

“And I am answering it, Sky.”

A thin thread of desperation winds its way through his words; words he’d hoped he’d never have to say to Sky even as he knew how foolish the wish was. Soldiers fight, and soldiers die; it is a universal truth that is much harder to swallow when it’s being forced down your own throat.

His breathing refuses to steady, and Saul blows out a shaky breath before continuing anyway.

“Soldiers have to have these conversations with the people that matter.”

And Sky _matters_ ; matters so much Saul can’t even stand how much his son means to him. Deep emotion mixes with pain to close his throat, and he has to stop and take a couple shallow breaths before he can continue.

“We make a plan. _That’s_ what we can do.”

Sky’s small jerk of negation seems subconscious, and the sheen that he suddenly sees in boy’s eyes makes Saul’s heart break further.

“There has to be something else. I already lost one father. I can’t lose another.”

Saul’s heart is in pieces in his chest, and he practically speaks over the boy in his haste to not choke on the emotions crowding their way up his throat, unable to look at those pain-filled eyes.

God, it seemed like only yesterday those eyes were staring up at him, when had he gotten so tall?

He’s drowning in emotions, and so takes refuge in professionalism; or at least, as much as he can muster for the moment.

“I will keep you updated on the battalion’s progress. Do you understand?”

Sky dips his head in an approximation of a nod, his “Yeah” more of an exhale than a word before he turns to leave, and Saul can do nothing but stand there and watch, struggling to keep pulling in just one more breath.

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	4. Chapter 4

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Sky’s expression continues to haunt him, though Saul forcefully shoves it away as he leans over the map and focuses on Marco’s voice coming through the phone with enough intensity he’s surprised the item hasn’t exploded.

“Marco, give us an update. Are you still tracking the Burned One?”

“Where are you now?” Farah adds, the urgency in her tone unabated since he had first staggered into the greenhouse what felt like a lifetime ago.

 _“Clatville. We missed the last attack by under an hour. We’re right behind it._ “

Saul finds Clatville on the map, finger skimming over the surrounding countryside. Closer, but not close enough, not with his time running out faster every hour. The whites of his eyes are permanently stained now, the Zanbaq having ceased to have any effect.

“Use the Vanya River,” he orders, fingers tracing it on the map, “Burned Ones have difficulty navigating large bodies of water.”

Which Marco knows, and which Saul knows Marco knows; but stuck here doing nothing has been driving him ever-so-slightly round the bend; or at least, it would if he had enough energy left to _go_ round the bend.

To his credit, only the tiniest bit of exasperation comes through in Marco’s _“We know,”_ but the Specialist is all business as he continues, “ _It will be cornered by the morning.”_

“We may not have till morning.”

And Farah’s right, Saul knows it, but to have someone actually say the words makes him want to either clap his hands over his ears or hit something. 

There’s a loaded pause on the other end of the line, and then Marco says _“…we’ll call you when we get it,”_ and hangs up in the midst of Farah asking to be kept updated.

Saul grabs her hand when she goes to call the Specialist back.

“They shouldn’t be on the phone.”

They don’t need the distraction, and it won’t be enough of a distraction for him, so Saul focuses back on the map.

“We should be out there with them.”

Frustration has Farah pulling her hand away and starting to pace.

Saul can’t help himself; his tone is more deadpan than humorous as he attempts to quip, “Not sure how effective I’d be, but I understand your frustration.”

And he does; if he had his way he’d be out there taking revenge for the Specialists that had been slaughtered – and why had he survived? Luck? Fate? Pure stubbornness? – except for the small detail of how he can barely stand upright, never mind fight.

He hates that Farah feels like she needs to help him take a seat, but he bites his tongue when Ben shows up bearing shot glasses and alcohol.

Saul manages to keep his tone calm and full of conviction as he points out that “Marco and Noura are two of the best graduates to come out of Alfea.”

Farah’s not having it, clearly still chafing at the bit that she’s stuck at the school instead of out in the field and determined to stew in her mood.

“Yeah but they’ve never had to face a Burned One,” she argues, “They don’t know what they’re up against. We do.”

Saul bites back a sarcastic quip about how that knowledge had clearly been _so_ helpful to him, while Ben doesn’t pause in his self-appointed task of apportioning shots.

(Then again, he _was_ still alive – for now – so maybe it had been.)

“Well, we decided to stay here and teach the next generation.”

There’s a gentle…not rebuke, in the professor’s words, but confirmation, perhaps…That they had made their decision and that the result of it was that their best students were now doing exactly what they had been trained to do.

Saul pitches in his own two cents, if only for the vague hope that Farah will sit down and stop pacing; it makes him twitchy when people keep walking in and out of his line of sight.

“We’ve taught them everything we can, Farah. It’s time to trust them.”

“I do! It doesn’t mean I like sitting here waiting.”

But she does sit, thankfully, and Saul suppresses the urge to grin at her grumpiness.

Huffing out a breath as she sits she crosses her arms and mutters, “I feel like a glorified babysitter.”

And he and Ben both chuckle, because it isn’t the first time one of them has aired _that_ particular complaint, never mind that – as Ben had pointed out earlier – they’d _chosen_ to become faculty at Alfea.

“Don’t laugh at me, Saul,” Farah orders, barely able to hide a smile.

But he can’t help it; the irony of Farah Dowling – a woman who never seemed particularly interested in children in general – deciding to accept the post of Headmistress of Alfea always made him grin.

He raises his shot glass in silent, insincere, apology as Ben says drolly, “Speaking of, isn’t tonight the Specialists’ annual debauched kegger?”

Saul nods slowly in realization, unable now to keep the smirk from his face.

“Imagine they think we don’t know.”

Well, he’s pretty sure it’s more of a they-know-we-know-but-we’re-all-pretending-otherwise kind of situation, but he’s never been particularly interested in determining the truth of the matter.

Farah’s all tongue-in-cheek even as her eyes glint wickedly. “Imagine they think you didn’t start it.”

Saul mentally preens at the mental image of what expressions his students might have were they ever to find out _that_ particular tidbit.

Raising his shot in silent cheers, the liquor is a welcome burn down his throat that detracts from the painful sensations radiating out from his wounds.

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It’s still dark out when Marco calls back, exuberant.

They’ve killed the Burned One, and Farah and Ben slump in exhausted relief at the news; a total contrast as Saul’s muscles crank tighter, the horrible truth as glaringly evident as the dark tracery making its way up his neck.

“There’s more than one.”

His words shoot like bullets across the fireworks of their happiness, and Ben and Farah only stare at him in confusion for a few moments.

Ben, still on his left, gets it first, and the oath the normally mild man lets out nearly turns the air blue.

“What?”

Farah’s face is white, and her eyes get large when Saul silently turns to show her the dark lines still on the left side of his neck.

“There’s more than one,” he rasps again, and Marco and Noura have fallen silent in horror on the other end of the call.

“It was the wrong Burned One?” Ben slowly straightens in his seat, eyes wide behind his glasses. “But that means –”

“It’s not a fluke,” Saul says tightly, fists clenched as he hunches over the map, eyes roving aimlessly across the paper. “The Burned Ones are back, and they’ve killed the wrong one – _they’ve been following the wrong one, and now there’s no more time!”_

He violently shoves off from the table, not even pausing as he snatches up his jacket and marches blindly away, ignoring Ben and Farah’s desperate calls.

He needs air, and he needs to be away from people.

Moving on autopilot, Saul isn’t entirely surprised to find himself at the outdoor training grounds. He wanders among the equipment, thinking of everything and nothing.

This is it, then; no one’s got the faintest idea of where the Burned One who attacked him actually is, and there’s not enough time to do anything about it even if someone did.

He impulsively sends Sky a text telling him that Marco’s battalion has killed the Burned One, only to immediately regret it as a stab of guilt goes through his heart.

Telling Sky means the boy is going to come find him, and that’s the last thing he wants; but the powerful urge to see his boy – for all that there is no shared blood between them, Sky _is_ his son – for one last time overrides logical thought.

He finally comes to a stop on the raised sparring ring, sitting with his hands clasped loosely around his knees as he waits for worse-than-Death to claim him.

So when Sky shows up, full of life and eagerness and asks him “How do you feel?” Saul is physically unable to answer, fear and guilt and shame stopping his tongue.

He doesn’t stop the teen from hopping up on the ring with him, though he can tell the exact moment Sky notices his face.

“You said they killed it.”

Only faintly accusing, but Saul feels the knife in his heart twist with every word, stabbing through the waves of fear that having been washing over him stronger every heartbeat.

Truly faced with his own mortality for the first time in over sixteen years, Saul Silva is forced to admit that he doesn’t want to die, never mind that the world seems set on that course of events.

He tries to grin; is pretty sure he fails as he nods jerkily, “They did.”

Exasperation now, as only a teenager could wield, and it would be humorous if the situation weren’t so dire.

“They why are your wounds not healed?”

And he deserves an answer, no matter how much Saul doesn’t want to give him one; he should, in fact, give Sky the answers to questions he hasn’t thought to ask, but Saul is ashamed anew to realize he isn’t strong enough to do that now. 

“The one they killed mustn’t have been the one that attacked me.”

Shaky breaths before he can continue, the truth practically ripping itself from his throat, “Clearly, there are more than one of the creatures out there.”

But please let it be no more than that; the thought of more Burned Ones showing up and not being around to protect the people he cares about –

Denial flashes across Sky’s eyes, and the knife in Saul’s heart twists a little more. He needs to tell Sky the truth – all of it, even if it means going to his death knowing that his son hates him, but Sky’s voice breaks into his train of thought, scattering it like dewdrops in the wind.

“So the battalion will keep looking, they’ll probably –”

“It’s too late, Sky.”

He catches the boy’s eyes, tries to impress upon him the finality of the situation with his gaze even as he speaks the words.

“It’s over.”

Sky’s furious now, practically spitting the words “You told me to wait,” and it just makes Saul feel even older. Sky’s old enough now to understand what ‘death’ means, and the toll of being that lesson is just one more placed on Saul’s already over-burdened shoulders.

God, he desperately hopes Sky isn’t around when Farah and Ben have to put him down.

“It’s all there was to do.”

And it was; all they could do was pin their hopes on Marco and his battalion eliminating their target; it wasn’t their fault they wound up eliminating the wrong one.

Saul can’t say he’s at peace with what is going to happen to him; resignation is a better word for the weight pressing down and threatening to smother him.

“And the one thing you always told me about my father was that he died fighting.”

And god the knife in his heart is a be-damned sword now; not that Sky knows the effect his words have on Saul as he continues, furious, “And now you’re just going to lie here and take it? Fuck that.”

Saul closes his eyes, listening to Sky drop off the mat and feeling an impotent urge to say…something…to the boy.

“Sky –”

“Fuck that!”

And he should go after him; he doesn’t want the end to come while Sky’s mad at him, but all he can do is sit there, frozen by fear, and watch his son run away.

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	5. Chapter 5

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He’s still sitting on the ring when the oddest sensation flows over his entire body. The pain radiating out from his wounds vanishes as if someone had done a Healing on each individual vein, artery, and capillary, and the sensation is so astonishing all he can do is sit and blink.

A tentative touch on his cheek yields nothing but the familiar feel of stubble, and though a hasty glimpse of his abdomen shows nothing but skin and scars, Saul still can’t believe what his senses seem to be telling him.

And then he’s up and running before his stunned brain is conscious of having made a decision, nearly plowing into Ben halfway back to the school.

They’re talking over each other – Ben’s saying something about a Burned One, and Sky, and that Bloom girl that’s been giving Farah fits – and finally Saul just gives up and hauls the other man to the greenhouse, getting filled in on the way.

Never a patient man to begin with, Saul has to practically force himself to stay still as he jacks up his shirt so that Ben can get to his bandages.

He’s pretty sure it’s shock that has his tone sounding almost normal when he asks if things are alright.

Ben’s confirmation sounds as stunned as Saul feels, but Saul’s relief is tempered by the sight of a fully armed Sky standing in the doorway of the greenhouse, and he jerks his shirt down and is already in lecture mode as he rises from his seat.

He jabs the air in front of Sky accusingly, relieved his finger isn’t shaking. “ _You_ – are an idiot.”

“I know.”

But the sweet, sweet release of knowing he isn’t going to die – at least, not today – is overpowering, and added to that the nearly volatile cocktail of emotions he ran the gamut of while Ben was filling him in and Saul doesn’t – can’t –hold back.

“A stupid, impulsive, reckless idiot.”

Relief and delayed fear for Sky makes his voice progressively louder with each adjective, forcing Sky to speak louder in turn as he tries to redirect the conversation.

“I know. I know! But is it better? Is it better! Professor Harvey?”

Sky’s demand for answers is met with a sly look and a smirk, and friend or not, Ben’s silent ‘How the tables have turned, haven’t they?’ is just _begging_ for retribution.

Saul was _not_ that bad at Sky’s age, and Ben damn well knows it.

“Don’t smile at him,” Saul snaps, exasperated.

But the exasperation vanishes when Sky – never the most physically demonstrative kid – pulls him into a hug and Saul barely hesitates, clasping him back in a hold just as tight.

Saul’s emotions are tripping over each other like water over rapids, but the overriding feeling is that they’re going to be alright again.

He stops Sky from drawing back with a hand clasped around the back of his head.

“Your Dad would’ve been proud,” he says, knowing it for both the truth and a massive understatement even as he tries not to choke on the words. Sky’s fought a Burned One and survived; and the fact that fully trained Specialists did and didn’t is something that Saul doesn’t doubt will get added to his nightmare reel.

They knock foreheads in a ritual they haven’t done since Sky grew old enough to pronounce it ‘weird’, and now the boy’s grinning from ear-to-ear but Saul’s pretty sure he’s one wrong moment away from breaking down, so he releases the boy with a brisk “Good lad.”

Saul’s not sure what he’s more relieved about: that he lived, that Sky survived facing a Burned One, or that Sky is still blissfully unaware that he should actually hate his adoptive father. 

Not to mention he suspects that even the appearance of a second Burned One is still only part of the opening act for whatever shit-storm is actually headed their way.

A grim streak of humour goes through him as he wonders if Ben has any alcohol stashed in the greenhouse.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Basically wrote this as I watched the series lol only ever watched snippets of the original Winx Club, so I won't be dropping any Easter eggs from it, strictly TV-verse. 
> 
> (And maybe it's my age showing, but who honestly thought styling Sky's hair like that was a *good* idea?!"


End file.
